Reflections on Life through poetry, essays and photos

In the Market

Her mother tells her not to talk to strangers in the streets–to count on all her kin to provide everyone she meets.But this man has such lovely eyes, so what could be the harm?And she’s not often left to stray this far from father’s farm.When he walks by, she gives a smile and looks him in the eye.He looks away, but his shy smile still gives away the guy.She drops her basket, but he still continues on his way.It’s only then that she decides that this one must be gay.

The store where she is going is not so very far,and yet she takes the longest way that leads there from her car.Although it should be blocks away, instead it is two miles.She only has this route and back to practice all her wiles.Whenever gentlemen of note meet her questing glance,Her winsome smile becomes a grin, her walk becomes a prance.Some of the men seem to be shocked. The others move away.She’s sure it is just married men she meets this market day.

But finally, one man in plaid does not avoid her glance.She smiles at him invitingly, afraid she’ll lose her chance.She sees him turn as she walks by and follow in her wake.It seems she’s finally hooked one. It was a piece of cake.When she arrives and goes into the store, he follows her.It’s just so he can meet her, of this she’s fairly sure.Aisle after aisle she meets his gaze by boldly looking upwhile he pretends he’s looking for food on which to sup.

Pork and beans he passes up, chili and green beans.He adjusts his shoulders and hitches up his jeans.She knows that he’s not used to this. He’s not so debonair.He will not meet her flirty glance or even her bold stare;and yet she sees him peeking when it seems that she’s not looking.It’s clear enough to her that something’s definitely cooking.She’s been around the livestock so she knows the signs and causes,yet a bull just gets right to it and a rooster never pauses.

The action quickens in the aisle where the bread shelves start.She finally takes the upper hand and swerves into his cart.The metal baskets scrape and crash and make an awful din.She does not mind that people gawk. She finally has an in!He blushes when she talks to him, and she is sure he nearlytakes her hand and flirts as he says, “Pardon,” very clearly.He turns and walks her down the aisle. It is a date, almost.Side by side they stroll until parted by a post

that splits the aisle in two and makes them part, then join again.Though she is small and portly, and he is tall and thin,they make a handsome couple. She can see their wedding stills.She will pick the gown and flowers. He will pay the bills.When they approach the registers, he tells her to go first.They chat as the checker works. It almost seems rehearsed.

He asks about her family and certainly seems rapt.The lives of mother, father, brother, sister clearly mapped.Details others might find boring are engagingly relatedand all the while his pupils stay entirely dilated.He puts his thumb right through a peach, then grabs up a red apple,and tells her that he’s noticed her in front of him in chapel,sitting by her sister and wearing a blue hat.Her sister’s hat was yellow. He is sure of that.

When she asks him home to supper, he says, “Yes,” in nothing flat.He talks to all her relatives and even holds the cat.When her annoying sister talks and talks and talks,he responds politely–he never even balks.He finally admits that he’s engineered their meeting,but still the news of it does not set her heart to beating.Now it is family legend, the story of this mister,with an unexpected ending. He was there to meet her sister!

Borrowed photo used with thanks to Wikipedia. This is in response to Fandango’s prompt,debonair.

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About lifelessons

My blog, which started out to be about overcoming grief, quickly grew into a blog about celebrating life. I post daily: poems, photographs, essays or stories. I've lived in countries all around the globe but have finally come to rest in Mexico, where I've lived since 2001. My books may be found on Amazon in Kindle and print format, my art in local Ajijic galleries. Hope to see you at my blog.

It was one of many things that took a toll. We haven’t really been friends since she moved to Italy in 1970 — she moved to get away from the family (long story). Now that she is back (for the last couple of years, she only talks when spoken to, and I’m playing that in very small baby steps!

The yellow hat was what tipped me off as to what the ending was going to be, as well. Well. I guess I had decided it just before he mentioned it and that was the way to let you in on the possible ending.

I like it when the protagonist controls the direction of a story. Fictional characters become so real sometimes. A couple of years ago I wrote a poem about a world called fiction planet. It’s where all the fictional characters go when we’ve finished with them. Some of them are a mess – badly designed and incomplete. It’s a very confused and overcrowded community.